i find it so strange that i look forward to going home after work today, when i know i will spend my evening staring at the walls. strange that i enjoy time alone, but time becomes bland without him around.

i need to find a good book, to draw, to start a new project...to find something that will warm me.

i am a charcoal branch.

i am an empty glass...i am the air.

eimerolecule has forgiven us for the spay and is once more pressing that lovely kitty-belly-warmth into our necks as we sleep, knead-needing our hair and the purring, impossibly loud.

i gaze at the kittens and wonder at how amazing they are. this is how people feel about their children? perhaps. these cats are one of my most favorite smiles, my tt being another.

i think of you
like i often do when i hear the rain
on my windowpane, gently tapping at the glass
like your gently touching fingers
just looking for the smile i give to you

i am umbrella-ed by a few impressions today...firstly, there will be no gym after work. my gym buddy gorillagrrl is absent adn i have no initiative on my own...secondly, there may be shopping. a new store and a coupon courtesy of idle. this is if i have a feeling that this place is somewhere to go after work.

i may just go home and sleep/relax. there are kitties to check-in on tonight...to feed the beasts. fun!

strange being in another's house...strange being there and alone. something is missing...someone is being missed.

mondays
mondays are the loneliest of days.

(i am sure listening to ra-dio-head is not helping.)

mournday: the kiss, cold lips, solid breath as departure's wind circles and twists... the numb settles in, sinks I.V. down into the blood, slows to paste...necessity and routinue take control and the drive is driven, the day worked, and homeward bound is the b0oty to snuggle down into fuzzy kitten warmth, to nuzzle cheeks against bare cold walls

looseday: i sing the words they write when all i wish for is to wail, lengthy moans reaching deep, from the ankles. over the line, you, breathing to my sighs, our feet unsoiled...our pots upturned. how can i touch you when i cannot even see your eyes?

whenisthisdaygoingtoend?: the cats grow restless, stretch against window glass, hiss at reflections...they pace up and down on your side of the bed, mewling, pawing for scent that so quickly dissipates. they slide under the covers and breathe and wait...they...or are they me?

hurtday: my wings, thick and wet, trail behind me as i rip through the time carapace. i molt for you, renew and reborn...tonight i will fly, the wind behind me, sucking my toes. the curl of your hand on my hip and we off from there to sup and to love. is it not funny that we take turns with tears? opposite mirrors as we spin spin that coin on the table, flipping flippant. with my lips to the pillow i whisper secrets, tomorrow metamorphous once more, patience my love, just a few hours, days.

dieday: i am here, in this place and away from your fingers lips words. i am trapped again, hard shell crusting already one level underneath new, and so fragile skin. they know nothing, cannot see my stained wing's reflections...only they push the pin deeper, sure that i cannot fly away. once again, they know nothing.
if i hold my breath i can hear you...beating from the car, blood's rush and engine's purr. you are alive and here...you have arrived to take me, take me. we are new and fantastic, we are amazement and elation, the sun is only half as bright.

sadderday: this day. we wait all week for a few hours of this...for the connection to once again weave, fingers and feelings, a sweater of comfort warm safe home. i have created this, in my mind's dreamings, my thought's fantasy...could this feeling be every day? is this possible? we must try, keep moving, breathing before we cease.

doneday: sometimes it takes me half of a day before i realize that my wings have dropped off...my legs wrenched off by some cruel child, skin scraped grated away, fingernails pulled. it is possible to live through a broken heart, yes...even if it happens each and every week.